


Hammurabi's Robin

by distractedKat



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Backstory, Batman:TAS rewrite, Community: yj_anon_meme, Episode: Robin's Reckoning, Gen, daddy!Bats, tragic past!Robin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-30
Updated: 2011-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-26 17:54:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distractedKat/pseuds/distractedKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Young Justice adaptation of the Batman:TAS episodes "Robin's Reckoning")</p><p>Batman's decision to remove Young Justice from the investigation of petty extortionist Billy Marrin is decidedly out of character, so Robin does a little digging.</p><p>What he finds will dredge up dark secrets from his past, driving him to settle up a long unfinished score, no matter what it takes. And that will change the game for everyone</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Robin cocked his head curiously, face turned up to a large monitor displaying the image of his mentor. “You mean you don’t want us to track the guy down tonight? That doesn’t seem like a good idea. He’s got to know we’re onto him, he could run if we don’t—”

“No. I don’t want you going after him _at all._ I’m taking you off the mission.”

Small sounds of protest and surprise broke from the five teens arrayed behind Robin.

Robin himself only frowned faintly, trying to work through his mentor’s logic. “That doesn’t make sense,” he said at last. “We’re the ones who _found_ the guy, and we’re closer. Besides, you gave this to us; it’s _our_ mission to—”

“Not anymore it’s not."

Robin stood, hands planted on either side of the keyboard he’d used to transmit the data that resulted in Batman’s uncharacteristic reversal of orders. “But—”

“This isn’t a job for your team,” Batman said flatly. “I’ll take care of it.”

“But you—!”

“Stay out of trouble. I’ll come get you when it’s over.”

“You’ll come _get me,”_ his protégé echoed disbelievingly.

“You need to be in Gotham for a few days.”

“A few—”

“Stay out of trouble,” he said again.

Then the connection ended, and he was gone.

Robin dropped back into his seat, clearly flabbergasted. “This is not whelming at _all,”_ he said firmly.

“Is this guy a Gothamite or something?” Kid Flash prompted.

“Not one I’ve ever heard of. And trust me, I’ve heard of them all. But I wonder…” The tech savvy hero leaned forward, fingers flying over the keys.

“Maybe Batman knows something we don’t.” M’gann smiled when the others glanced at her. “He could be trying to protect us.”

Artemis’ lip curled. “From an _extortionist?_ Are you _kidding?”_

“Maybe we should go after him anyway.” Superboy crossed his arms, frowning deeply. “Robin’s right; _we’re_ the ones who found him.”

“Batman is in charge of deploying us,” Kaldur said calmly. “If he wishes to remove us from a mission, he is under no obligation to explain his reasoning. …Although,” he added, “I am reluctant to abandon any mission half-way through.”

Robin made a soft, thoughtful sound, more attention devoted to the system than the debate. “Billy Marrin,” he mused. “Who are you, anyway?” He accessed a list of aliases, scrolling through them quickly.

A name caught his attention. His blood froze, then burned.

And he understood.

“Batman’s right,” he said, his own voice ringing oddly in his ears. “This _isn’t_ a mission for Young Justice.”

Artemis scowled at the back of his head. “Why not?”

“He used to operate in Gotham, but he got away. I’ve— We. We’ve been looking for him for…a long time.” The young hero tipped his head into shadow so they couldn’t see even a trace of his expression. “I’m going to double-check Batman’s research. You guys go to dinner; I’ll catch up.”

His teammates hesitated. Something about his tone or body language or just the absence of any kind of smile or smirk was…unsettling.

Robin turned so they could almost, almost see his full profile. “Go,” he said, more than a suggestion but not quite a command, darkness lurking somewhere under the syllable.

Wally hung back as the others left, nodding when Kaldur looked at him questioningly: He would find out what was wrong with their little bird, if he could. Once they were alone, Wally stepped up next to Robin. “Hey.” He touched Robin’s shoulder gently. “It’s just me. Are you okay?”

The Boy Wonder didn’t shrug him off, exactly, but he was tense under his friend’s hold. “I’m fine,” he said, still with that odd undercurrent of utter cold. He turned back to the console. “Go eat. Save me something for later.”

“Something’s wrong,” Wally pointed out. “Is it that Marrin guy? I’m sure we can working something out with Bats, maybe help with the take-down—”

 _“No.”_ Robin’s voice, soft and low, made every hair on Wally’s arms stand on end. _“…Marrin…_ has a…special history in Gotham. Young Justice doesn’t have a place in what’s coming for him.”

Wally’s heart thundered, every fight-or-flight instinct screaming at him. “Robin—”

“Go away, Wally.”

Wally did, if only so he could get the others to help him call for someone else in the League to come over quickly. Something was desperately wrong with Robin.

He glanced back the moment before the door closed behind him, just in time to see Robin stand. He reached out, stretching to touch just his fingertips to the image of Billy Marrin. His face was turned up, drenched in the glow of the monitor. The play of light and shadow should have been beautiful.

It was terrifying.

Robin whispered a single reverent word into the darkness that cloaked him.

 _“Finally.”_

Then Wally was gone.

And by the time he got back, so was Robin.


	2. Chapter 2

Robin vanished.

They guessed what had happened, of course, when he didn’t ever join them for dinner.

“It’s that Marrin guy,” Wally hissed, rushing ahead of the others to check on whatever research the Boy Wonder had uncovered before vanishing. “Something about him really got to Rob; apparently he worked in Gotham a while back.” He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the rest of the team was assembled behind him before typing in the command that should have displayed all the information in their system even remotely connected to Marrin.

The computer returned zero results.

“…That can’t be,” Wally said firmly, as though his conviction alone would force the program to generate a different response. He entered the same initial search request, following it up with a wide assortment of variant spellings and keywords that grew steadily more loosely related. “He wouldn’t. Robin wouldn’t wipe Marrin from the system. This thing accesses the _Justice League’s_ databases, he wouldn't be that _stupid—!”_

Kaldur put a hand on Wally’s shoulder, stilling the younger boy’s frantic keystrokes. He didn’t say anything, but a sense of deep foreboding sank through his stomach as he looked up at the screen, watching the _No Results_ icon flash.

Realization settled in stages:

Robin had discovered some kind of vital information related to the central figure of their latest mission. Instead of sharing his revelation, he had hidden it by sending them away (like children, inferiors—clumsy playmates he could dismiss when they did not suit him). Then he had systematically hacked into both their own encrypted databases _and_ the Justice League’s in order to locate and destroy all evidence of that same information.

He had run from them.

The intel necessary to track him, to understand his madness, was gone.

 _Robin_ was gone, could be anywhere, doing anything, injured or in danger or lost, and how could they help him if he was just gone?

It couldn’t get any worse.

 

(Of course it could.)

 

In a cave near a city fractured by darkness, a hero sat at his computer and accessed a secret file he had long ago created for the sake of a newly orphaned child.

It was empty.

His research was gone.

And so was his son.


	3. Chapter 3

They looked for him, in all the quaint old-fashioned ways. He had gutted the heart of their technological advantages, but they could run. They could fly. They could use their eyes and ears and the strength of their bodies.

Robin was a paragon of stealth, a creature of extraordinary cunning and grace, but he wasn’t perfect.

Kid Flash did a survey of the base and found a ’cycle missing.

Superboy studied the ground and found new tire tracks.

Miss Martian flew high and saw where the road led.

Artemis listened to their information and recognized the city.

Aqualad gathered them together and laid out a plan.

They would find him.

They would catch him.

And they would ask him—

Robin. Teammate, friend. Brother.

 _Why?_

 

Batman didn’t waste time with tire tracks or the most likely route taken by a missing ’cycle. His data was lost, but the information remained. He knew who Marrin really was, knew what he’d done, where he’d fled.

Knew where he was hiding.

So he didn’t need clues to find Robin.

 _(A small body fights him, fights his hold, fights hard and dirty to get at the man who had ruined his world. A small voice cries, “I hate him, I hate him! Let me go I’ll **kill** him!” And the child is young but Batman believes him so he holds on tighter, pulls him close, folds him into the dark of his cape, and vows to teach him a better way to use his anger. _

_But that anger still remains, as black and vicious as ever._

 _And they both know it’s there.)_

He just needed to get to Zucco before Dick Grayson did.


	4. Chapter 4

It didn’t take long to find the condemned office building where Zucco was squatting.

A rathole, dilapidated and crumbing—fitting.

Robin settled onto the roof of an adjoining building to establish the watch pattern as he had once been taught.

 _(Information is your greatest weapon. The enemy might be stronger or bigger or better armed, but with the right information, he will not be able to stop you. Learn your opponent, and success is inevitable.)_

Three guards outside, counter-clockwise patrol, sloppy and loud and lazy, drinking and smoking and careless.

Disgusting.

Robin picked them off quietly, one by one, stringing them up for later. For the police or the mafia or the storm building in the east.

Whatever.

He slipped through a second-story window, creeping in the darkness, stalking Zucco, feeling his presence in the room below like a brand in his chest, white-hot and burning, bright like hate, sharp like vengeance, oozing out like blood in the center ring—

And all he really wanted was to make him hurt, make him _pay,_ now before anyone could stop him, he was right there and all Dick had to do was go down a flight of stairs and through a rotting door and teach him to _regret—_

 _(Stop. Wait. Be patient. Don’t fall into the hands of the enemy. Always make your opponent play to **your** strengths; draw him into **your** arena. Charging in recklessly will get you killed. Lay your traps. Make your target be the mechanism of his own defeat.) _

He made a little sound, and waited.

Caught one of the last two hired stooges and strung him up. Made another small sound.

Waited.

Then there was only

 _(screams in the big top but he couldn’t hear them, not over the roaring in his ears, the gasps that were the last sounds they would ever make other than the splintering of their bodies, the thud of his whole world hitting the ground like the thud of a sandbag, the snap of a rope their rope snapped it **snapped** how could it snap so cleanly—_

 _Cut._

 _Cut._

 _ **someone cut the rope)** _

Zucco.

He went outside, just in the darkness, the shadow where guards should have been, and kicked a bottle to the ground.

Zucco.

“What’s with all the goddamn racket out here?”

Zucco.

 _Finally._


	5. Chapter 5

When they got close enough, they were able to track him by collateral damage.

There were muscle men hanging from light posts, gagged and squirming uselessly. Bottles were broken; small cans and other trash kicked over. Two more men were bound inside the crumbling building.

Just outside, in the alleyway, someone had fought. Someone had walked outside and been ambushed, deliberately herded into a corner and—

Dragged _up?_

They clustered together, boxed where Marrin must have made his last stand, and tipped their heads backward.

Robin was on the roof.

“Why would he go up there?” Artemis wondered while she hooked her bow tightly across her back in preparation to scale the junk.

Miss Martian offered her hand as an alternative. “I’m not sure.”

“A better question would be ‘What’s Robin’s beef with Marrin?’,” Kid Flash muttered. He backed up for the running start he’d need to zip up the wall. Miss Martian lifted into the air beside him, carrying Artemis with her. Aqualad pulled water from rusted pipes, making a platform big enough for both himself and Superboy. In heartbeats, they were gathered on the roof. What they found was—

Robin. And Marrin.

But not as they’d expected.

Marrin was unconscious, bound as his lackeys had been, but not yet mounted for the authorities. The cord that held him ran up and over a crossbeam that stretched out over the alley. The only thing preventing him from dangling over the drop was Robin, who stood at the roof’s edge, one foot planted against the low crumbling wall for leverage. His right hand held Marrin’s rope; the left was fisted in the extortionist’s shirt.

Robin’s cape whipped around him in the wind from the rising storm. He faced away from them, focused on Marrin so they couldn’t quite make out his expression. The lines of his body were tight, coiled and ready, as though his fight was still to come instead of already won.

“Dude!” Kid Flash exclaimed. “What is _wrong_ with you? You hacked the JL databases! Do you have any idea what kind of _trouble_ you’ll be in if they ever—”

Aqualad reached out to grip Kid Flash’s shoulder. When the speedster glanced back, he realized the whole of his team was tense, still, _waiting_ for something.

But it was just Robin, who had caught his bad guy. What were they so upset about?

“C’mon, Robin,” he called, turning back to his friend. He motioned at Marrin impatiently. “Tie him up and let’s go.”

Robin’s body shifted, fluid as it ever was, head tilting down and to the side until they could see the full of his profile over his sloping shoulder. His mouth twisted, curling in a vicious display of teeth. “Tie him up?” he echoed. His hands tightened on Marrin and the rope.

 _“Like hell.”_

He shifted his weight and kicked, and Marrin went swinging out into the darkness.


	6. Chapter 6

“Robin, _no!”_

When Kid Flash tensed to zip forward and take the rope himself, Robin loosened his hold, just enough so the tether slid through his hands. Marrin jerked a few feet closer to his death.

Everyone froze.

“Robin,” Aqualad said firmly, trying to fill his voice with enough authority that the boy might listen. “You took an oath to follow the League’s code when you joined this team. We do not kill.”

“Yeah, well…” Superboy heard Robin’s teeth grit together as his jaw clenched. “Maybe I’m making an exception this time.”

“You can’t mean that,” Miss Martian begged, even as she felt the blackness of his thoughts wash over her. His energy thrummed with chaos and blood.

He did mean it.

Kid Flash walked slowly forward, hands held out in a pacifying gesture. “Listen, let’s just talk this through, Rob. You don’t want to do this—”

“What do you know about it?” Robin snarled. He twisted his body, using his weight to pull Marrin a few feet higher. “He doesn’t get to just _walk away_ from this. Not again.”

“I thought you were one of the _good guys,”_ Artemis sneered.

“Like you’re one to talk,” he spat.

Artemis blinked, badly startled. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Maybe we could focus,” Kid Flash said, just a touch hysterically. “Y’know, on the guy _hanging off a four-story building?”_

“You can’t do this,” Superboy told Robin confidently.

Robin turned to glare at him. “Can’t I?”

“No.” He motioned to Marrin. “That would make you like him, and you hate him too much for that.”

Batman’s protege flinched. “Maybe it would be worth it.” He straightened a little, eyes locked on Marrin. “Maybe I could make it look like an _accident._ Maybe he tripped. Maybe he fell. Or the line—maybe the line was _cut_ , and there was nothing I could do—”

“Stop it.” Kid Flash was breathing almost as hard as Robin, panting with the effort it took not to run over and snatch the line from Robin’s trembling hold. “Just _stop it._ You aren’t a murderer, and you can’t do this, Robin, just _stop—!”_

“I’ve already seen him walk away once!” the teen shouted back. “I’m not— I won’t watch it again! Why does _he_ get to live, anyway?” He snarled at the unconscious man. “He’s the reason good people are dead. Everyone loved them, and they’re _gone,_ and it’s _all his fault._

 _“Why should he get to keep breathing if they had to die—!”_

“Robin.”

The boy jerked, expression blanking with shock. He turned to the shadows.

Batman stepped forward, cloaked in darkness, cold and silent.

Robin shook his head again. “It isn’t fair,” he said.

His mentor didn’t reply.

“It isn’t _fair,”_ he repeated.

“No,” Batman agreed simply. “It isn’t.”

Robin seemed to buckle under the words. He wavered, curling in on himself as he sank down. At the last minute, he reached out…

And tied off Marrin’s line.

He stumbled back, allowing the others to rush in and pull Marrin back onto the roof.

Out of the corner of his eye, Superboy watched Batman approach Robin, watched the much smaller boy shrink away from his mentor, face averted and arms crossed tight over his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, too low for anyone but Batman and superhearing to catch. “You were right. I’m so sorry.”

Batman studied his protégé briefly. Then he stretched out one large hand. Robin tensed, which made Superboy tense, but Batman just cupped the back of Robin’s head, drawing him close.

Superboy thought Robin—so fiercely independent, a competent hero in his own right—would pull away.

He didn’t.

He crushed himself against his mentor, arms wrapped as far as they would go around unforgiving Kevlar, hands fisted tight in the black costume, hiding his face in Batman’s chest. His breathing began to hitch.

Batman gripped the edge of his cape in his free hand, using it to shield Robin as he held him close. “It’s alright,” he murmured, voice lower and more gentle than Superboy had ever heard it before.

For the first time since Superboy had met him, Robin looked his age, dwarfed and sheltered by one of the most feared men on the planet.

When the others looked back, Robin was still pressed close to Batman, tucked under one arm and partially hidden by the heavy black cape.

“We’re going back to Gotham,” Batman said. “I’ll send some of the League to clean up here.”

“Wait,” Kid Flash protested, “aren’t you going to tell us—”

“You did an admirable job looking out for a teammate,” Batman interrupted firmly, “but this is where that effort ends. Robin will return to Mount Justice when he can.”

The other young heroes all looked to Robin, waiting for him to protest, to step out of his mentor’s shadow.

He didn’t. If anything, he turned further into Batman’s hold, tilting his face so his expression was lost in shadow.

They left.

And Young Justice had to let them.


	7. Chapter 7

Back at home, Dick sat by himself in the darkened kitchen, a mug of Alfred’s hot chocolate cooling between his hands. The trip back to Gotham had been completely silent, followed by orders to get cleaned up and have some dinner.

Alfred made all of Dick’s favorites, but the boy had no appetite. The chocolate helped a little.

If only he could stop _thinking_ about it.

The League would never let him work with the other young heroes again. Kaldur was right; Robin had sworn not to intentionally endanger life, but he’d been minutes from ending one. If the others hadn’t shown up…

And Batman would probably never let him around anything technological again. What had he been _thinking_ , hacking his own mentor’s databases? Dick set his mug down, propping his elbows on either side of it and clutching his still-damp hair with both hands.

He’d ruined _everything_ , and for what? Zucco? A revenge he didn’t even have the guts to finish?

How could he have been so _stupid_? Everyone probably hated him; Bruce would have to ship him off to a Swedish boarding school or something. He’d never get to tell everyone how _sorry_ he was—

A large, fluffy towel dropped over his head, blinding him momentarily. He pushed it back just enough to look around.

Bruce took a seat across the breakfast table from him, an identical mug of cocoa steaming in his hands.

Dick felt his throat tighten. He ducked his head until the towel obscured his vision again. “…Sorry,” he whispered.

“I don’t always dry my hair properly either,” Bruce replied carelessly. “You don’t have to be sorry unless you catch a cold. If that happens, though, I’m leaving you to Alfred.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“…I know.” Bruce set his mug down. “What you did tonight was dangerous.”

Dick lowered his head further, clutching the towel’s edge in a white-knuckled grip. He squeezed his eyes shut against the burn of tears. “I’m sorry.”

“We had no immediate way of tracking you, and no means of getting in contact. What if someone had been hurt?”

The boy flinched. “I’m sorry.”

“You keep saying that.” Dick heard Bruce settle back in his seat, doubtlessly steepling his fingers in thought. “Why are you sorry?”

Dick swallowed hard, shoulders bunching under the towel. “You took Young Justice off the mission for a good reason,” he said hoarsely, “and I ignored you. Worse, I stole your information and went after Zucco for personal reasons. I disobeyed you, even though you were right to try and stop me from going after him. I made it too personal—I could have hurt him, could have _killed—”_

“Stop.” Bruce rose out of his chair to lean over the table and grip both of his ward’s thin shoulders. “I didn’t take you off the mission because I thought you’d hurt Zucco, Dick. I tried to keep you away because…” The hero drew a shaky breath. “He’s already taken so much from you,” he said softly, hands tightening in a gentle squeeze. “I couldn’t stand the thought of him taking you, too.”

Dick looked up, meeting his adoptive father’s gaze with astonishment bordering on awe. “You mean it?” he whispered.

Bruce offered him a rare smile, pushing the towel aside to cup his child’s cheek. Dick leaned into the touch, eyes shut and eyebrows pinched together. “Of course I do.”

“Even though I was going to…to kill him.”

For a long moment, Bruce was silent, and Dick was too nervous to open his eyes and analyze his expression. “You aren’t the only one who’s wanted revenge so badly he’d do anything for it,” he said at last, and very softly while he stroked his hand once through his son’s dark hair. “I lost my parents to murder too, Dick. If anyone can understand what you went through when you realized who Marrin really was, and that he was finally in your grasp— Well.” He sat back with a sigh, lifting his mug in both hands. “I’m certainly not in a position to cast stones.”

The boy finally looked up, studying his mentor closely. “Thank you,” he said. Blue eyes dropped to cooling chocolate. “I’m…mad at myself. For forgetting so much of my training when it really mattered.”

“Good,” Bruce said. “You’ll remember it better next time.”

Dick glanced up at him. “…What am I supped to tell the others?” He licked his lips nervously, curling his hands around his own mug. “Am I even allowed back? I know I…made them really suspicious…”

“You have some very loyal friends,” Bruce observed. “Not everyone would spend so much effort to find you without any indication you were actually in trouble.”

A faint smile ghosted over Dick’s mouth. “I know.”

“So I think, in this case,” the multi-billionaire continued, “the best way to repay their show of loyalty is with another show of loyalty.”

Dick’s gaze snapped to Bruce’s. “You mean—?”

“If you feel up to it, and you’re sure about wanting them to know…” He waited for Dick to nod firmly before imitating the gesture. “Then I guess what you’ll have to tell them is the truth.”


	8. Chapter 8

Two days later, Robin returned to Mount Justice.

He met the others in the kitchen, where they had gathered around the table to theorize about his behavior and eat M’gann’s cookies. When they saw him standing in the doorway, their conversation fell to silence.

Robin, sunglasses in place and hands tucked into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie, ducked his head briefly. Then he took a deep breath, lifted his head, and said, “Hey.”

They stared at him without responding.

So Robin pulled his hands from his pocket and motioned to a seat. “Can I join you?”

Wally nodded. “Of course.”

He dragged a stool over until he was sitting before them, keenly aware that they watched his every move with cautious suspicion. “I guess you have some questions,” he said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees so his hands could dangle loosely.

“Understatement,” Artemis muttered.

“Would you have killed him?” Kaldur asked.

“If you guys hadn’t shown up when you did? Yes. Most probably I would have. So…thank you.” He glanced up at them. “For stopping me.”

Wally was pale under his freckles. “You’re the one who always told me the sign of a great hero was his ability to overcome any odds without endangering life.”

Robin inclined his head. “Yeah.”

“Well then what the _hell,_ Robin?” The speedster made a helpless gesture with one hand. “Marrin’s an _extortionist_ , and not even a very good one! Just…what the _hell?”_

After a moment of silence, Robin sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead. “That’s a long story,” he whispered.

M’gann pushed her plate of cookies toward him. “We’re here if you want to tell it.”

“If you _can_ tell it,” Superboy added, arms crossed over his chest. “Isn’t all that stuff about who you really are supposed to be a secret?”

At first, Robin didn’t respond, didn’t so much as twitch. Then he pulled his sunglasses off without a word, cradling them in the hands still hanging loose between his knees. Eyes the color of the sea moved over each of them in turn before dropping back to the floor.

“Once upon a time,” he said into the great silence of their shock, “there was a gypsy circus.”


	9. Chapter 9

_"Once upon a time, there was a gypsy circus._

The circus was run by a man named Haley—that isn’t surprising. There has always been a Haley to run the circus.

In the Old Days, the circus was nothing more than tricks and oddities. But with each new Haley, it changed a little more, wandering, like the gypsies, through time.

As the interests of the world changed, so did the specialties of the circus, and the gypsies, until at last there came a family that could all but fly. They were loved by the People, and loved by the world, and loved by each other.

Two, out of all rest, were the most beautiful in flight. In time, they had a son, who also learned to fly.

Time passed.

The gypsies traveled.

And at last they came to a city of darkness.

A man filled with greed found them there. He told the Haley that the city was dangerous, that terrible things sometimes happened to those who passed through.

But for a fee, the man could ensure that no such things happened to the circus.

Haley was a gypsy, and the son of gypsies, back to the beginning. The circus was honest work, but it had not always been, and that dishonesty was still in Haley’s blood. It would be in the blood of all the Haleys, all the People, all the gypsies, forever.

So he recognized the man and his threats, and did not submit.

The man was chased away.

Before he left, the son of the family who had learned to fly saw him.

He was a gypsy and the son of gypsies, back to the beginning. He knew what the man was. Later, when he saw that same man leaving the big top, he knew something was _wrong._

But he was also a child—he was only eight—and he didn’t know the words to warn the others.

That night, he flew with his parents for the first time.

And the last time.

Their rope snapped. The trapeze fell. They fell with it.

He watched them fall.

Detectives asked the boy what he had seen; he told them everything he could remember.

The man was Tony Zucco. A criminal. He had killed the boy’s parents as a warning to the Haley.

Because the boy knew Tony Zucco’s face, he was hidden—away from Zucco, away from Haley, away from the circus and the People and the bodies of his parents.

The patron of the city took him in, cared for him, shared the pain of losing everything.

In time, he learned that the city also had a protector, who was searching for Zucco.

Then Zucco tried to run.

The boy went after him. He was nearly killed—the protector saved him.

Zucco escaped.

But the boy learned that the protector and his patron were one and the same, and there were other ways to use the black anger that lived in the wound his parents had left.

His patron offered him the chance to take back some of what had been lost, to prevent other children from suffering his fate, to make the Tony Zuccos of the world suffer. He took the offer—how could he not?

So the boy learned to fly again. Not quite as his parents once had, not even as he might have for the Haley and his People, not even as outsiders would have demanded if he flew for their enjoyment. But he flew, all the same.

They named him Robin.

And so it goes.


	10. Chapter 10

_“And so it goes.”_

 

Kaldur broke the heavy silence that followed in the wake of Robin's story. “Marrin is Zucco." He studied his youngest teammate thoughtfully. "That is the information you discovered.”

Robin inclined head. “Yes.”

“Batman removed us from the mission so you would not be forced to confront him.”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“You went after him for revenge,” Kaldur clarified. “You would have killed him, because he is the man who killed your parents.”

A muscle in Robin’s jaw tensed. He was still bent forward with his elbows propped on his knees, sunglasses cradled in his hands, eyes locked on the floor. “Yes.”

“You’re Richard Grayson,” Artemis realized. “You were adopted by Bruce Wayne—the city’s patron. Its protector. He’s Batman.”

Robin—Richard Grayson shut his eyes. “Yes.”

“I can’t believe he let you tell us!”

“Never mind that,” Wally interrupted. “I can’t believe you _didn’t_ tell us about Marrin. Zucco. You should have told us.” He ducked forward until he caught Robin’s—Richard’s—gaze. “We could have helped you!”

“With what?” Richard’s hands clenched around his glasses until they creaked. “I knew you wouldn’t help me do to Zucco what I thought he deserved. I didn’t want him behind bars; I wanted him in the ground. You stopped me from doing that. That’s good—it’s what had to happen. But if my goal was murder, why would I tell—”

“No.”

Robin’s eyes darted to Superboy, who was frowning deeply. “No?”

“We wouldn’t have helped you with Zucco.”

Richard’s mouth twisted in a dark, ironic smile.

M’gann touched his shoulder. “But we would have helped _you,_ Richard.”

His brow furrowed. “How would you—”

Wally zipped around the table, yanking his friend out of his chair and into a hug in the space between heartbeats. Useless sunglasses clattered to the floor. “I’m sorry about your parents,” he whispered into dark hair.

Richard’s slim acrobat’s body was tense in his embrace, his hands clenched by his sides. He could not have appeared less willing to be hugged if he tried.

But Wally felt his friend’s breathing hitch and held on tighter.

Finally, slowly, his hands lifted to fist in the back of Wally’s shirt. “Stupid,” Robin whispered, harsh with building tears. “You’re so stupid, Wally, how is this supposed to _help—?”_

His voice broke, and he buried his face in Wally’s neck.

The other swarmed them, burying them in a tangle of arms and gentle words.

“I’m sorry,” Robin whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” they soothed. "It's over; let it be done."

He clung to them and didn't reply.

Eventually they migrated to the entertainment room, piling together in a nest of blankets and pillows with Robin at their heart. They asked him quiet questions about what it had been like, before Zucco, about the life he had been born to, the one that might have been his.

He told them all the stories of the People that still lived in his memory, stories about his parents and aunts and uncles, about cousins and friends and the expectations of the Haley. He told them about their death, about the funeral, about finding a home and a life and a new family, a _purpose_ for the grace of his flight.

They asked him if he wanted to go back, if he wished it hadn’t happened, if he ever felt regret.

He burrowed close and whispered, “No.”

And he meant it.


End file.
